Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady & Maria Villanueva, Scott Hunter & Carter Vaughn, Gloria Grey/Carter Vaughn

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Maria Villanueva, George Grady, Carter Vaughn, Gloria Grey, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Shapeshifting, POV Multiple, bunny!scott, Embedded Images, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Found Family, Closeted Character

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of The Shape of Us (a Bunny!Scott AU)

Collections:

Bunny!Scott Fest

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-05 Words: 11,254 Chapters: 6/6

The Spell in our Seasons

Summary

5 times people met Scott as a bunny, and 1 time they met Kip.

Notes

This is inspired by the wonderful Skip Discord Server that planted in me the headcanon of a shapeshifter Bunny!Scott. This work is connected to the previous work in the collection regarding the rules of the universe, them being essentially that everybody is a shifer and people have as little as no control on when they shift (it can have internal or external causes but it's not generally controllable). People might retain sone species related quirks but they're usually minor or trivial. Other than that the storyline is not connected to the previous one and can be read as a standalone.

Any comment is appreciated and received with joy, just please keep it respectful.

Eternal praise and gratitude to groggygrady , who agreed to beta and was so very patient and fast to respect the deadline.

Chapter 1: 1 - Art gallery - Start of October

Chapter Summary

The OG meet cute.

Chapter Notes

The first time Kip got to meet his boyfriend’s shifted form was less than conventional. He wasn't even his boyfriend at the time, they were far too early in the relationship to call themselves anything other than invested fuckbuddies. Very invested ones but still, sharing Spells was not a feat to be taken lightly.               

So they had the talk, sometime a week or so after their first fuck. Shared calendars. Understood when they would have to give each other a couple of days of grace to account for shifting and recovery, the whole shebang of it.

To be honest, Kip wasn't sure whether he should spend his own next Spell at George's as always or risk it at Scott's Manhattan penthouse. He hadn't offered and Scott hadn't asked. Still, a part of him knew Scott would have loved nothing more than to be allowed to take care of him in that non sexual way that came from having a defenseless creature in your care. He would pet him behind the ears and give him belly scratches. Brush him down and groom his paws and maybe, maybe take him out for a walk. Kip’s neck felt sensitive just from thinking about it, and he trailed his fingers over it feeling the weight of a collar and the leash attached to it, and then Scott's hand holding that leash. He thought about them strolling side by side in Central Park as his ears went a little pink, the collar of his t-shirt feeling suddenly tight.

But those were things real couples did and he wasn't really sure where they stood in that regard.

Scott was trying, he knew that, which is how they found themselves on a cloudy fall afternoon going together to an art gallery in the Upper East Side, walking a very sensible couple feet apart.

The air smelled of leaves and the petrichor that comes from the stone pavement after it rained.

Kip was trying, too: he appreciated the effort of putting them out there in a public setting, even such a low stakes one, but couldn't shake the heaviness in his stomach, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The shoe dropped 20 minutes later, inside the “T-A-S” Atelier on East 72^nd Street, NY. An intimate space. An entrance that could just as well have led to a private house—unassuming, and therefore expensive. Inside, white walls on polished birch floors.

They were strolling around in comfortable silence, whispering comments every now and then, mindful not to disturb the other visitors, as few as they were, when Kip's attention was taken by a small painting at the end of the lane. It represented a dog and a hare with human bodies, sitting at a diner drinking a milkshake, but it might as well have been a smoothie. The scene was so outlandish and so fitting that it made both giggle leaning into each other, Scott pressing onto Kip’s side, almost brushing his brow with the tip of his nose. For a moment, they forgot how exposed they were.

That's when the sales assistant approached them.

“Striking, isn't it? It's our youngest artist. He specialises in Spell-art, all his subjects are shifted. The blend of human features with animal attributes is the constant element of his works. It tells us we are always a mix of both. The subject is a couple from New Jersey that posed in shifted form, the bodies were added later on. It's a perfect piece for a kitchen or a living room of a young couple…” she said without a care in the world, her hand pointing at details on the painting.

Staying perfectly still at arm’s length from Scott, avoiding looking at him like his life depended on it, Kip felt in the air the moment everything changed.

And like you know thunder anticipates rain, he knew the fallout would come.

He risked a glance at Scott next to him and his eyebrows had shot to his forehead behind the sunglasses (that he wore in October, for discretion), he had a deathly pallor to his cheeks and his hands were trembling. He looked like he was gonna be sick, he was possibly about 30 seconds away from a stress induced Spell and Kip wasn't gonna allow that in front of a saleswoman in an art gallery, if he could avoid it.

He scanned the walls for the toilet sign and, fuck, it was pointing to the room adjacent.

“The next room, to your left,” he tried to keep as calm as he could muster, balling his fists to keep himself from touching him on the arm.

“Excuse me,” Scott said simply, leaving in long strides.

To Kip, fell the thankless job of reassuring the lady that there was no reason to worry, that Scott, his very best friend Scott, just really hated smoothies and milkshakes. He choked on a maraschino cherry as a kid and was traumatized ever since. The shocked stare he received told him the lady didn’t know whether to believe him or if he was just messing with her. He took that as his cue to leave, excused himself before she could recover and went after his not-yet-maybe-not-ever-boyfriend.  

He was going straight for the customers’ toilet when he noticed. A shoe in the middle of the room. A white sock, and his companion after that. A pair of trousers, like the shed skin of a very long snake.  Like Theseus in the maze, he followed the trail of clothes to a sculpture in the furthest corner of the room.

Kip peeked behind the pedestal and thought “Okay, well, I’m fucked”.

There, wedged between the column and the wall, still half covered by his grey scarf and pressed into the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible, was a snow-white bunny with black nose and ears and mole-like spots all over his round back. It was probably the cutest thing to ever walk or hop the earth, and was looking up at Kip with sad, guilty, terrified eyes. If for the shame of having fled, the embarrassment of being so affected as to trigger a Spell or just self contiousness at being in such a vulnerable situation, he could not say. It was, by any given standard, quite heartbreaking to see.

“Hey you, there you are,” he whispered, swallowing a bit of bile that was left from before, trying to get a grip on himself.

First of all, the standard etiquette: he crouched on the ground, because looming over a small creature is intimidating and also a big no-no, put out a hand to encourage sniffing, and deliberately averted his gaze to the side. After holding his breath for what felt like ages finally, finally, he felt Scott’s nose on his finger, followed by the tiniest of head thrusts. Kip's heart melted a little bit. Not because the fur was so soft. Not because he snuggled further in his hand and Kip could hold his entire head between two fingers. Not for how the spots on the back mimicked the moles of the human form—and boy did he have a weak spot for those. The eyes undid him. Those beady unguarded eyes spelled “I would die for you” with every nervous blink.

So now he had a melted and flipped heart, was basically in love, and had to get out of there with his bunny companion without causing a scene.

He petted Scott on the cheeks with his thumb and index finger and again dared to look at him in those shiny eyes that were still Scott's, even now. He didn't flinch away but stared back intently and cocked a perfectly straight ear to the side.

“Hey Scott. We have to go. I’m gonna leave you now. For a moment. I’ll come back for you. Stay put.” Kip tried to get a sense of how much he was being understood, speaking slowly. When he took a couple steps backwards Scott didn’t move, just kept looking at him while he collected and folded the discarded clothes.

“Do you prefer my tote or your sweater?” He sat down a respectful foot away and reinforced his offer by holding out his canvas bag next to Scott’s forest green cable knit. Scott assessed both of them for a moment and then bit on a ribbed cuff, dragging it down.

“Okay. I’ll have to carry you. Do you agree? Hmm... thump if you do, I guess?” He had no clue what the proper manners with bunny shifters were but he would have to be forgiven, he guessed. Extreme circumstances and all that.

Scott didn't thump. Instead, he headbutted Kip's hand again, snuggling his open palm. Good enough.

The clothes went into the tote, though the size 12 gym shoes were poking awkwardly from the top opening—to be frank, no tote was ever made for Scott’s shoes—while the sweater lay flat on the ground.

When Scott hopped on it a moment later, Kip wrapped him in it like a small burrito leaving out only his long ears and vibrating nose and then scooped him up holding him with both arms close to his body, letting him hide under the flap of his denim jacket. They were probably the farthest thing from inconspicuous but Scott was breathing warm puffs against his chest, his paws holding onto his arm through the wool, and he felt 10 feet taller, stronger in the task to keep him safe. Through the rooms and corridors they went, hastily changing direction when they almost bumped into the same saleswoman, striding through the massive doors like the building was on fire.

They stood on the sidewalk and the sun was shining warmer this time. He took Scott out of his jacket and held him, burrito and all, in front of his face, so that he could see his reaction.

“We both know this is not a long term solution, right? We will have…” he started saying, then thought better of it. There would be time for that later, at home. But maybe there was no need to rush there and be sad and defeated. Maybe he could give Scott an out, a way to be together in the open that wouldn't cause any of them a nervous breakdown.

“Hey cutie, wanna go for a walk in the park? Hmm blink for yes, I guess?”

Scott blinked once, blinked twice, blinked three times, then lunged forward and licked Kip's nose. He slipped out of the sweater and into Kip's arms, snuggling high and safe in the crook of his neck.

“Ah, so that's a yes, hmm? Let's go before we lose the light.”

They went towards the park and Kip felt a spring in his step, he guessed having a rabbit in your life would do that to you. They were gonna have some good hours before the sun went down, and afterwards he would take them to a cozy little café nearby that had animal treats, too. They were gonna eat sitting side by side and no one was gonna bat an eye. It wasn’t gonna be the same as holding hands, but Scott was going to love it.

Chapter End Notes

As references for the characters shifted forms, I encourage anyone to have his own reference, but this I personally imagined Scott as an english spot or something similar and Kip as an American Bulldog mix or a Rottweiler mix.

Chapter 2: 2 - Straw+Berry - December

Chapter Summary

The co-workers who tolerate us.

Chapter Notes

As soon as Maria saw Kip walk through the door at Straw+Berry 45 minutes late on a Saturday morning shift in the deep of winter, she knew it was trouble. He looked sweaty and flustered, had matted wet curls plastered to his forehead from running in the snow without a hat, red knuckles from forgotten gloves, and generally looked like someone who failed his exam at adulting.

But that was no news. Maria accepted Kip being a disaster as she accepted taxes or the change of seasons, or the existence of rude customers. Which is, with a shrug and a sigh. No sir, what concerned her was the no-nonsense carrier pod slung over his shoulder that probably cost more than their monthly salaries combined.

“I'm so, so sorry. I know I'm late, no notice, terrible person and all that, but it was truly an emergency this time. Also, traffic was hell. What are people doing out on Saturday at this time of year? Just stay home, for God's sake!” Kip carefully deposited the carrier on the counter and headed toward the back room to get changed, leaving behind a trail of sludge. Someone would have to clean that and it was not gonna be Maria.

“By the way, this is against workplace policy. You know that, right?“

“Since when?”

“Is this a child? A parent under your care? A spouse?” she yelled the last word to Kip’s neck as he scurried away.

Feeling curious in spite of  herself, Maria approached the pod with a good hunch of who exactly was inside but still no clue on what to expect. She took a peek through the mesh net and wouldn't you know it, the fluffiest of creatures was quietly sleeping inside, coiled tight in a perfect ball shape, his white fur all speckled with black spots, his long ears suddenly quivering in his sleep at the realization he was being watched.

“He is gonna get fired and finally you will have it your way and have him as sugar baby, or housewife, whatever works best for you two.” Scott slept on but his nose wiggled adorably in his sleep, almost like he was scrunching it in disdain at the suggestion. Now, wasn't that just what a girl needed on a gloomy Saturday? Two friends in distress, ripe for a little camaraderie needling.

“It's the flu… I think? He was fine yesterday, but he probably got a fever in the night, so this morning, well…” Kip reappeared in his uniform, looking mildly more composed, albeit not by much. He punctuated his excuses with a wet sniff and a scratch behind his ear. He caught himself and started tucking back his hair instead.

“Girl, you don't look the picture of health either, if I might say.” Maria turned around and cataloged Kip's red nose and bleary look as more trouble. “If you're here to infect me and half of Manhattan you could have stayed home, thank you very much.”

“’T's nothing. It's just fucking Siberia outside. I’ll make myself some tea.”

“Make two. I don't care to spend tomorrow as a cat.”

Kip filled two mugs and dunked the chamomile teabags for brewing, and then moved Scott on top of the milk fridge, making him a nest out of Maria's spare fleece. He checked his ears, palpating the whole length to gauge the temperature. He still had a light fever, but no discharge or lack of twitching. He was gonna be fine. Because care was part of the treatment too, he kept massaging the base of his ears and the temples, feeling him lean into his hand, rolling to the side in his sleep.

They sipped their tea waiting for the second wave, and Scott tucked himself again into a little donut, snoring away for a couple of hours while they served the trickling customers that dared to brave the weather.

Every now and then Maria would check on him and give him a small pat on the flank, but eventually he was awake and somehow got moved from the fridge to the counter. She suspected Kip was involved in the operation, but let it slide.

Admittedly, Scott had very good manners, or more likely was still too out of it to act up: he didn’t scratch or hop, or explore his surroundings. As she was making a smoothie for a soaked student, Maria caught him zeroed in on the kiwi she was cutting. Hungry then, she thought leaving a slice behind. Customer gone, she started feeding him pieces of it, peel and all, a bite at a time. “You go on sweetheart, they were never meant for humans in the first place.” She got a nibble on her finger as a thank you. “Just don’t expect too many belly rubs from me, hm? I’m a busy girl.” Another nibble was the answer she got. It was a lie anyway.

After that, because Scott was more active and she was bored out of her mind with the late morning lull, she had him give the credit cards back to the customers and hand out the receipts. There, let him earn his treats at least. When Scott threw the credit card of a lady that left no tip on the ground, she knew her investment was bearing fruit.

Kip tried his very best not to hover around too much, left the bunny cuddles and the tip collecting to her and stuck to the smoothie making, inventory organizing, floor swiping.

He was in fact such a model employee that Maria could only clock it as guilt and an attempt to mollify her. When he offered to bear the snowstorm and bring them takeout she knew she was right.

She watched him disappear into the blizzard, shoulders hunched, and she thought he was always trying to apologize for things that didn’t need apologizing for.

The door had barely closed when Scott shot up on his hind legs, ears erect and panic in his eyes. Just her luck.

“What's up, little dude?” was all Maria managed to ask before he leaped the whole 3.5 ft down to the floor and sprinted to the back room, first scratching at the door and then really thumping his foot down when he found it closed. Maria opened it feeling a bit baffled and he sprinted inside, making sure to close it again with a back kick. A rustling of shifted boxes and the metallic sound of fallen containers followed, then a grunted curse after that.

Ah. That was gonna be another problem. Because she had manners, she allowed him some time to get his bearings before cracking the door open and throwing inside her Straw+Berry apron.

If you had asked yesterday how she envisioned her morning shift at the smoothie shop, there were a couple things she would never have guessed: the weather change had been sudden, the morning spent feeding and pampering the most pathetic of sick bunnies in the hemisphere was a welcome surprise, and having Scott Hunter, butt naked, inside of her fridge, was the proverbial cherry on the cake. She allowed herself a snicker, just once, because nobody was there to witness it.

When Kip came back, being his usual flustered, breathless self, she was again the picture of professionalism.

“So, you know the Chinese on the corner we always go to? Closed for weather emergency. The pizza kiosk? Closed for mourning. Someone likely froze to death. The kebab place doesn’t do delivery. You gotta go at your own risk. I took us two and some salad for... Where's Scott?” He looked around and under the tables, slightly alarmed.

“Oh, he's better. So much better in fact that he had to hide in the closet, no pun intended. Either that or he's dead but you'll have to go check. I might be a frustrated single girl in her twenties, but I’m not a sex offender.” Maria replied, trying and failing to contain her glee.

Kip's face did something complex, shifted from relieved to mortified to utterly embarrassed and landed on sheer terror. “I have no clothes for him,” was the only unhelpful comment he made before approaching the back room on leaden feet.

Idiot. Maria pursed her lips, of course Kip wouldn't. Some people were just unfit for life and by some miracle still walked this earth. Thinking about it they probably lived on thanks to people like her.

She rummaged in the lost and found box under the counter, between the kegs of soda water. It was really not gonna be much, but beggars can't be choosers, she supposed. “Here, try with those,” she said, passing him a couple of mismatched things from where she was kneeling on the floor.

Scott Hunter came out of his fruity den looking like the dead, with bags under his eyes and a couple white tufts of fur still lingering behind his ears. He was sporting a hoodie from the box that was too big even for him and covered his hands to the knuckles. It said “Go Raiders” in bold yellow letters on a black field. Underneath, a pair of Kip’s spare workout trousers in electric blue stretched awkwardly over his quads and left his ankles bare. The runaway look was completed by Jeff’s slides (did he even still work there?) that miraculously fit him and were a particularly vivid, hideous shade of orange.

Frankly, he was ridiculous, but he was also so beaten up and miserable, dragging himself across the shop on shaky legs, that she didn’t have the heart to torment him. He looked like those sad dogs, or bunnies she supposed, that look up at you daring you to kick them.

“Come on, you big boy, let's get you sorted out. You lay down and rest until Kip is done.” She led him to the customers’ couch, where he flopped gracelessly, folding his long legs under himself, and tucked him under a ratty blanket that was also fished from the box.

“‘Nks, Maria. ‘M really sorry for the trouble.” Scott mumbled settling on the too small couch.

“Don't worry about it. Kip is gonna owe me for a while, after this. Smoothie? You look like you need fluids. What was your order? Moonlight Over Brooklyn?” she asked, putting a handful of blueberries in the blender with a healthy dose of almond milk.

“Oh, you remember. Yes, thank you… And could you… Could you add a banana?”

Maria chewed on her bottom lip trying to stay serious, because it was a bit rude to laugh in a sick man’s face. “Sure thing, handsome.”

Chapter End Notes

I hope you're liking it so far, if you feel like it, comments are appreciated.

Chapter 3: 3 - Parent’s house - Start of May

Chapter Summary

George Grady makes his appearence.

Chapter Notes

George looked out of the kitchen window at the scene unfolding in the garden. Kippy was lying on a blanket, basking in the spring midday sun of one of the first really warm days of the year, barefooted, with sunglasses on, lazily flipping through a book. A white blur. Around him ran in circles a medium-sized bunny with straight dark ears and a fairly common pattern. Every so often he’d binky, a happy twist in the air, to gain his attention. Kip would pause his reading to stretch a hand mid air for a quick snuggle. Then they would both go back to their activities, Kip to his book, the bunny, Scott, that was his name and he might as well start using it, to his grazing.

Scott Hunter high and mighty was frolicking with his boy in a scene so bucolic and steeped in domesticity that looked like it came straight out of an issue of Country Life from the 50s.

He kept washing the vegetables with slightly too much energy and when he looked up again from the sink Kip was getting up, Scott following him with his eyes that were always a little worried, all the way to the house, but giving no sign of following him. He went back to the salad and the lentil soup.

“The fence is new.” Kip startled him a little coming in from the kitchen door. “And did we ever have so much clover in the garden?”

“Hmmm. The grass grows much nicer when there’s not a young someone digging holes every month or so,” he was being grumpy and he knew it but the whole situation was rubbing him the wrong way. Then again, he supposed his boy spending Spells outside the family nest was just a part of growing up.

“You know what I mean. And it's the first time since I can remember the TV corner doesn’t look like a rat’s nest.” Kip scratched behind his ear, sheepish. “I’m trying to say thank you... For all this. It's a really nice gesture.”

“M-hmm. As you said, it was a mess. It was worth tidying up.”

Kip shook his head but dropped the topic, the smart boy that he was. He knew as much as George did that he would come around in the end, and the whole stern parent act was indeed mostly an act. Still…

“I just don't like it Kippy. The whole… Hiding thing.” He couldn't keep himself from saying, and Kip looked at him then, and there was a touch of sadness in his eyes.

“I don’t like it either. But we are out with some people, friends and some teammates and such. It was a big step. And that's enough, for now.”

“As long as he respects you.”

“Dad, you know he does. I'm gonna go back now, lest a hawk snatches him or any other terrifying thing that can happen to a bunny actually happens.” Kip turned back and made to leave.

“Here, take a snack...” said George, passing him a turnip from over his shoulder.

He resumed the preparations for supper. The eggplants needed tending to, and after they were peeled and cut, put to grill in the oven, he glanced outside again. The sun was lower now, bathing the yard in orange, and Kip was cuddling Scott in his lap, stroking his jaw with the back of his finger while feeding him pieces of turnip and dandelions. In turn he received nibbles on his fingertips and chinbutts on his palms. He looked, in all truth, the happiest he had been in a long while. George exhaled a heavy breath, and braced himself a moment longer. He was being ridiculous, at his age, in his house, hiding from a bunny.

When he stepped outside, the air was fresher than before, a light wind swaying the uncut grass. Kip looked up, a little sleepy, and Scott attempted a half zoomie toward him, stopping halfway to self consciously chew on a yarrow stalk. They were all being ridiculous, actually, George realized. He also knew someone had to take the first step, and Scott had already done his. It was more of a hop than a step but whatever. In a couple of resolute strides he was next to him. He crouched down and reached with his hand, stopping shy of his furry twitchy nose. “Are you coming in, boys? Dinner is almost ready.” As he received a nibble on the wrist in response, he realized, with a bit of luck, all would be well.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you liked it, come say hi in the comments if you feel like it!

Chapter 4: 4 - Playdate - Mid-June

Chapter Summary

Carter fawning over his Captain in any known form.

Chapter Notes

To have a friend in your territory during your Spell is a treat. To have your Captain in your den is an honour. That's how Carter feels right now. Proud. Perched on the highest cabinet, as any self respecting chipmunk on lookout duty would, he observes from above Scott's fluffy form slumped on his side, quietly relaxing on the ground. He looks so soft and unbothered, comfortable in Carter's space.

A thump. He scans the surroundings for threats. He is, after all, there to keep watch. But it’s just their humans getting up to what humans do. They are allowed, of course.

Carter circles back to his Cap. He is twitching one ear in his sleep. Could he be hungry? Carter thinks so. He should provide for his guest, at least. There are treats hidden around, that much he knows. She always makes sure there are.

So Carter jumps, at the speed of light—that's how it feels—to the lowest cabinets, searches in the nooks and crannies, under the towels, maybe knocks down a couple of jars but that's a job related hazard. The yummiest bites are always the hardest to find: an acorn, half a nut, a single blueberry under an upside down cup, a piece of green bean behind the spoon crock. Carter stores them all lovingly in his loose cheeks and sprints to Scott, eager to show his loot.

Here, he thinks, for you—and he spits them all in front of Scott’s deeply still, deeply asleep form.

“Look Cap, food,” he says with his loudest chip-chips. But nothing, he still sleeps the sleep of chipmunks in winter, even though it's June and they are in the throes of the playoffs. Wait, what's a playoff again?

Carter scratches now lightly on Scott’s giving, plushy belly, and heaven, he could get used to the feeling. His Cap cracks an eye open and levels him the driest look he can muster. Huh, is he always so scary even as a bunny? But then Scott sees the treats and inspects them. Carter knew it, he was hungry.

Scott pointedly avoids the acorn but eats the blueberry and nibbles at the bean. He takes the nut between his teeth, very carefully not chewing, and gives Carter a mischievous look before twisting in the air with a mighty binky. Oh. Games. There's a game here to be played, and Cap wants to. With him.

In a flash of white fur, he is gone. At the speed of light, Carter thinks. But really really like a lightning bolt this time. And Carter springs after him giving it his very best, his tiny paws going 100 miles an hour.

His Cap is mighty though, his leap enormous in comparison. So they run around the coffee table several times over, and Carter’s nut is always out of reach. He tries with his intellect, changes directions and charges through the table, but the bunny is a sneaky old hare and dribbles him every time, like he would avoid a defenseman on the ice, and why is Carter thinking about ice now when there are nuts to be had? Important things first.

They resume the chase for a while longer, slaloming the legs of the chairs, avoiding the toys on the ground, but they’re getting slower. They're both excellent sprinters but a bunny is just a bigger and heavier creature, and that gives Carter the advantage in the long run. Still, the game is too much fun and he doesn't want it to be over. They leave the floor in favour of hopping from pillow to pillow on Carter and Gloria’s pristine bed. That’s even better.

Now Cap’s a little tired though, it’s plain in the way he’s losing focus, and Carter is a gracious host. He plucks the nut from Scott's teeth with his own, and would that be a kiss in human terms? If it was, he is a little proud of the stunt he put on.

Scott seems amused, too, and he lowers down a bit making a pretty loaf on the bed, daring Carter to hop on him. Carter thinks Cap must be stupid or really reckless because the first law of being a chippie’s friend is never to dare him to do anything. He will almost certainly do it. He climbs gingerly on Scott’s white silky back and man, is that how it feels to rest on a cloud?

He is holding on with his little paws, claws gripping some fur tufts and lying as flat as anatomically possible, bracing for the takeoff, when Scott leaps down from the bed and hops all the way back to the living room. He is so happy he could laugh if he was able to, but settles instead for flicking his tail.

They end up sleeping the afternoon off sprawled on the couch, while two very different, beloved hands cuddle them: one is broad and warm, has strong, gentle fingers and gives Scott the best scratches, Carter is sure of that; the other is slender and delicate, bejeweled and with colorful nails and holds him in her palm oh, so carefully. They can rest now. They are safe.

Chapter End Notes

Hi folks! I hope you had as much fun reading this as i did writing. I was literally snickering like a maniac.

Chapter 5: 5 - Monopoly - November

Chapter Summary

The circle gets bigger, and Ilya and Shane find themselves part of it.

Chapter Notes

Ilya knocked. Looked around in the dark foyer, unsettled by the lack of reference points. Combed his wet hair with his fingers. Tried to ignore his own nervousness and Shane next to him, oddly stiff and prim. 

They had already passed through the doorman, so it was not as if they didn’t know they were there, though showing up at the door of a man you just checked into the boards so hard he was sent home in a kitty bag still carried his special brand of awkwardness.

“Stop fidgeting, you're making me nervous,” he whispered, giving Shane a shove. It was gonna be a disaster.

“I think you mean you’re nervous. I’m fine.”

“I’m not nervous. I’m so calm. We're just at Scott-fucking-Hunter's door, nothing wrong with that. His nurse is gonna be any minute now.” No answer, but a fond shake of Shane’s head in the semidarkness. Ha.

There was a creak from the hinges, and light in the corridor and in it a short man, unfamiliar but not unknown. Kip stood there in fleece pajama pants and washed out T-shirt, a preoccupied frown on his mouth. Still, his eyes were kind.

Ilya remembered the only other time he’d seen the guy, just a couple of months earlier. Entering some anonymous bar after a win early in the season, to celebrate—but really because loneliness sucked—he spotted Scott Hunter sitting at a booth nursing a beer and licking his wounds. He was making some small talk with the waiter and when Ilya sat in front of him, uninvited, a flash of panic froze his features.  A deer in the headlights. As the waiter made to leave though, he gripped his arm and pulled him back. He was a pretty nobody with dark curls and a great ass, but Hunter looked at him like he had hung the stars.

That evening, Ilya learned there was someone almost as miserable as him in the span of twenty minutes, and spent the rest of the night reassuring Shane their secret was still safe. He might have mentioned, just in passing really, them being on friendly terms. Maybe.

Now, Kip ushered them in, hanging their coats with some words Ilya didn’t catch, and filled them in on the details of Hunter’s state: nothing broken but a bad hit nonetheless, most likely a sprain, he would get physio when he managed to turn back. No hospital needed. Good.

The game replayed in Ilya’s head for the 10^th time. How brutal it had been. The struggle for the puck behind their net. Jalo elbowing his goalie. Not thinking straight and going after the first person in his line of sight with a red jersey. A crack on the boards and a painful groan.

He hadn’t changed, still in his game day suit pants under a t-shirt, and he now dried his sweaty palms on them, feeling gross.

As they stepped into the living space, he took in Hunter’s—well, his and Kip's—apartment: a high end thing, but rather small for a couple, like a bachelor's den turned alcove in the span of a moon. The general beigeness was barely warmed up by knick knacks, a cookbook on the kitchen counter with too many bookmarks, a pile of textbooks precariously perched on the coffee table, a low fence in the corner, a leash on the door handle, signs of a life shared together. They were intruders. They had no business trespassing in the nest these two people made for themselves. They should leave. And who the hell thought this was a good idea? Shane probably. Always the one putting them in terrible situations, his Shane.

“So… where is the patient? I suppose the bear cage is in guest room?” Ilya broke the silence.

“We’ll only be a minute,” Shane inserted himself. “We know it’s late and we—Ilya has a flight tomorrow. Oh thanks Kip,” he trailed on, ever the polite one, taking the soda can that was put in his hands.

“There's no need for cages, he's over there,” Kip pointed to the back of the room.

Following the finger, Ilya craned his neck and saw it. On the white couch, neatly contrasting with the grey pillows, a small ball of fur, with jet black ears and spots, like he had been dipped in ink and someone left the job halfway done. Scott Hunter had no job being a creature like that. Something Ilya would see and want—not for himself, but close enough to touch.

It was not the animal per se, even though that was its own can of worms. It was the way he was positioned, with his back to the pillow, for safety. It was the injured paw kept tucked under his body. It was the way his ears were a little rosy on the inside, where the fur was sparse. Ilya might have been stunned into place. He faltered in his steps, a stupor freezing his expression and tying his tongue for a second.

“A bunny?” he whispered, more to himself, not knowing whether to dare step forward. It was Shane the one who moved, overtook Ilya and went slowly to the couch, crouching on the ground to be at eye level. Ever the decisive one, his Shane.

“We are very sorry to intrude. Ilya just wanted to know...”

“I wanted to know why a bunny, mostly. Shouldn't you be turtle? An old, wrinkly bicentennial…”

He had a whole joke on turtles, on the reason why Hunter was so damn slow, but Kip was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a set to his jaw that had a vein of steel under the steadiness. A lord considering how much leeway he should give in his own house. Ilya's mouth snapped shut. The carpet was so very interesting, all of a sudden. Instead, he approached on shaky feet, and Shane helped him down because the game had been tough and his hip was giving him hell. Kip's eyebrow remained, Ilya noticed, raised. Perplexity had morphed into curiosity had morphed into interest. Huh.

Focus. Say your piece and go.

Trying to move slowly, he got Hunter's attention by tapping his finger on the cushion in front of him and then, feeling plenty silly, he placed a puck in front of his paws. No reaction. Ilya started picking an invisible speck of dust on the immaculate leather.

“You forgot on the ice, probably were too busy hopping home. You won, by the way. That number 19 is a menace and your goalie looked like he was defending his mother from Tartars.” When Kip snorted a laugh behind them, he puffed his chest: the crowd was difficult to please.

“He’s gonna sleep for a while, still.” Kip put a bowl of snacks on the coffee table. “Why don't you stay? I know so little of you guys.”

“Ha. Only bad things I´m sure. Is simple. Whatever the old croc said, the opposite.”

“What do you want to know?” asked Shane, merrily falling into the trap laid in front of him.

“Ilya said he had a friend on the opposition. I find it awesome, actually.”

“Yeah.” “Not really that friendly…”

There was a beat of awkward silence before Kip smiled, and it was a dangerous thing Ilya thought, because it was not a predatory smile but a knowing one.

“How did you two meet?” his tone was innocence made words.

“Oh that's easy! At the draft.” Shane munched on a chip.

“But not, you know…”

“The draft? Wasn't it like... I have no idea, honestly. Wasn't it a bunch of time ago?”

“It was six years ago,” supplied Shane unhelpfully, “I still remember the first word we exchanged.”

“Of course you do.” Kip's gaze was so soft Ilya didn’t know whether to cry or run away as fast as he could.

Nobody knew whose idea it was, but the three of them ended up playing Monopoly on the pale grey carpet, just a shade lighter than the pillows. Ilya and Shane crouched on aching knees, Hunter awake and set up between Kip's crossed legs, head perched on his shin. Ilya was trying and failing to only look at the board and never stare at how Kip's fingers rubbed slow circles in the velvety skin of his ears, pinching it lightly between thumb and index. Ears always got him: Shane’s white, furry, triangular ones, and now the bunny’s almost cartilaginous ones. They stood upright, proud and leathery, so thin he imagined light could filter through.

“How’s it for you guys? Do you ever spend Spells together? I don't mean in the winter, but maybe in the offseason?” Kip rolled the dice, moved 7 spots, tapped the orange square “I`ll build a house here.”

“Not really,” Shane shrugged “I mean our species kinda have… Specific needs if it makes sense? Ilya's a bird, a Eurasian Magpie actually. He´s diurnal, mostly an insectivore, though he can eat anything. And he has these beautiful feathers, I've seen it a couple times, he's…”

“You know, most people in Russia are birds? Or wild herd animals,” blurted Ilya out before Shane started reciting his social security number, let alone out them both. He moved his Racecar, paid the Luxury Tax.

“Oh, and how's that? Birds are like so rare in North America,” Kip sounded sincerely curious. Ilya just wanted to sew his mouth shut. Possibly take a lifelong vow of silence.

Shane gave an imperceptible abort sign, whether to him or to Kip it was unclear, then pretended to study his assets. Coward. Well, too late.

“That's government policy. For food distribution. Easier if you can feed yourself off the land for a couple days a month.”

“How would you possibly achieve that?” Kip looked genuinely puzzled while reading his Community Chest Card. He drew 200 from the bank.

Ilya rubbed his neck, bought Baltic Avenue from Shane for three times its price, and dropped the bomb: “They have ways… Not all pleasant,” Ilya trailed on to Kip’s horrified face and then, because this was a grave of his own digging, “they killed you, okay? Long ago. So now it’s like that. Birds. Elks. Deers. Mostly birds.”

Kip’s hand was frozen, still holding the bills, his  gaze on Ilya more concern than disgust. Then he looked at Shane who was digging his nails into his own ankles. Ilya stared at his own worthless cards. Shitty deal.

“O-Okay, I think I will just build 3 houses right here in Atlantic Avenue. If you can pass me the red cubes, Kip, it’s 450 dollars I believe, thank you.” Shane’s hands were trembling a little putting the houses in a neat row, but he went on “so, hmm... Ilya’s a magpie. As I said, he’s stunning and I’m a...”

“...ssssht!” Ilya was  giving Shane fire eyes, because one international incident was enough. He nodded at Hunter.

“Not in front of the bunny.”

Kip looked up from the board, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Why not in front of Scott?” He collected his salary and skipped both Ilya’s properties.

“Well, Shane is, you know...” Ilya looked around, a little lost, and then for some reason started gesticulating, miming long whiskers and a tail.

“A cat?” Kip tried, puzzled. “A lizard?”

“No! How is this lizard?” Ilya threw his hands in the air. “He’s… not a friend to bunnies, okay?”

“That is so unhelpful Ilya, and not even true, by the way. I’m just…”  Shane gave an apologetic look to Hunter and took a breath, psyching himself up.

“I’m a fox,” he whispered.

Kip’s hands instantly went to Scott's ears, covering them both and flattening them against his skull. He looked a bit anxious, at least. There you have it. International incident.

“You're a fucking fox?” he shout-whispered, half shocked, half laughing.

“Yeah, an arctic fox… It’s not so uncommon in Canada. Practical, good in snow,” Shane shrugged and studied his fingernails. “But I’m not... I don't eat bunnies.”  

The whole thing was actually hilarious in its absurdity. Kip remained with his mouth half open, his eyes were twinkling with mirth while his fingers still stroked Hunter’s pinned back ears. Ilya was thinking about putting out a joke, something about flies building real estate in people’s open mouths.

It was just a beat though, followed by the surprised “O” of Kip’s mouth turning into a smirk. Boy, the guy was good.

“I never thought you would. Lemme get some more drinks.” Kip excused himself and put Scott on the ground with a soft pat.

“No hopping on the board, please.“

The bunny watched him with his dark eyes but didn't move to follow, he instead limped a bit uncertain on three paws, making sure not to put down the injured one. It made Ilya feel lowkey like a monster and he started chewing on his lip, considering if it was overstepping to reach out with a hand. To help. Just… to help.

“I think he would let you,” said Shane while counting his money, and wasn't that easy to say when you were not the one offering up your finger and your pride? Hunter would just bite him and his skin wouldn’t be the only thing getting hurt. Still, because he was a sucker for punishment, he reached his hand out, palm down, and braced.

Hunter looked at it for about half a second, then ignored it completely, clambering onto Ilya's lap. Ilya’s hands flapped and flailed at his sides as he pointed at the fluffy ball that was making himself at home in the crook of his knee.

“Shane look! Look! He chose me. Me.”

“I see that,” Shane rolled the dice, because it was his turn and he didn’t want to spook him by acknowledging the enormity of it. He was smiling his pleased smile though, the secret one he reserved for Ilya. He then landed straight on Kip’s property, the one with the hotel. Oh life was being unfair, giving and taking in a heartbeat.

Having a creature so fragile giving you his trust was a near mystical experience to Ilya, that made him hover with his hands above Hunter’s tiny body, quite unsure on how to use them. Instead of touching, he opted to leave them on his own haunches, palms up, offering but not pushing. The relieved exhale when Hunter snuggled himself into them was nobody’s business but his.

“I see I've been replaced as pillow of choice. Lovers are fickle. Here, drinks. There's beer and ginger ale, if you're allowed in the middle of the season in your cult of a job.”

Shane said nothing but snatched the soda can and left the beer to Ilya, along with the task of processing the word lovers. Kip resumed his place and stuck out a hand for Shane's money.

As they went on with the game the conversation lulled and the money stacks grew thinner or thicker. Ilya was counting his fifties with a worried wrinkle between his eyes, when he felt a banknote being steadily pulled from his hand. Looking down he saw it was almost entirely in Hunter’s mouth.

“Hey! Hey someone's stealing my money. This is sabotage.” Hunter looked unrepentant, chewing and moving it from cheek to cheek, and Ilya was not halfway through his tirade that he started chomping on the second 50 dollar bill.

“Hey Kip! Can he do that? Highly irregular if you ask me.” Ilya was panicking a bit, trying to snatch the third 50 dollar bill from Hunter's formidable jaws.

“He’s gonna ruin our economy. Possibly his stomach.” He was engaged in a tug of war with a creature 3 apples tall and he was losing.

“Oh, let him,” Kip said laughing, and stopped Ilya's hand with a gentle tap on the wrist. “He’s injured, thanks to you I might add, and the game is his in the first place. Here. You get 200 back from the Bank. State Fund against natural calamities. God knows you need them.”

Ilya scowled but accepted because he was having an abysmal run: he only owned the brown block and a single house nobody ever stopped on and two of his possessions were mortgaged.

“What's your animal anyway?” Ilya’s mood was becoming foul. Everyone wanted things from him. Kip wanted information, Shane wanted 1200 dollars rent, Scott wanted more valuables to chew on. He mortgaged another property and paid.

“Oh my Spell form is a dog, nothing special really,” Kip shrugged and Ilya's expression did something funny, it became wistful and his eyes longing.

“Ah, Hunter choose wisely. Did he train you with electric collar?” he added in a whisper, “tap twice if you need help”

And fair enough, maybe he overstepped, but the joke was writing itself. Shane rolled, moved forward, ended up in prison.

Kip snatched the dice from Shane, a little briskly.

“Nobody trained me. Well, my father did, though with him being a marsupial he had a pretty hard time with it.” Ilya blinked in confusion but Kip went on, rolled the dice.

“If you mean if I'm housebroken though...” and Ilya opened his mouth to reply, because that was not the point, “I can assure you I am.”

In the silence that followed Kip moved his token and landed on Boardwalk. After checking his properties and his cash, he paid to put a hotel on it.

“You, on the other hand…” Kip said locking eyes with Ilya, apparently going for the kill, “you look like you would benefit from a stronger grip.” Then slowly, very deliberately shifted his look from Ilya to Shane, raising his eyebrows, “am I right, Shane?”

The ginger ale that Shane was just drinking went entirely in the wrong pipe and he found himself coughing it up, grasping for air, “I fold. I fold. Let's just... It's so late and we... I mean Ilya. I’m sorry, but Ilya has a flight tomorrow. I don't, but he does. So we should get going.” Shane looked like he was trying his best not to just run for the door.

“But Shane. I want to win capitalistic game,” protested Ilya. The only thing he wanted was to keep Scott in his arms, for Kip to continue needling him, exposing him. Them. He was becoming dependent on the casual way Kip had of considering them an item. He didn’t care a lick how much he had to be humiliated in the process. He wanted to stay and bear it.

“You are not going to win. He just bought a hotel on Boardwalk. None of us is gonna win the game tonight and that's a fact. Also, you are terrible at Monopoly.” The truth sucked.

“Yes, because you keep all your capitalistic tricks” Ilya trailed off, but he was getting up now, lifting Hunter up and depositing him on the floor like he was made of spun sugar. He lingered with the back of his fingers on his ears, where they attached to the skull. Hunter gave a couple wobbly hobbles through the board and landed in Kip's open hands, scattering all the pieces blithely in the process. End of the games.

Shane was right though, he always was. The hour was late. He caught Kip cracking a yawn as they were putting their coats on, and Shane’s eyes were also rimmed. His own limbs were aching terribly from the game, the muscles screaming up in protest. The day was catching up with them.

Kip was all warm hospitality again when they hugged goodbye and Ilya couldn’t help reaching for Hunter one last time, barely touching the tips of his long black ears in farewell.

“You take care of him, huh? Those fuckers need him for 3rd place. Without him will be probably kicked out of MLH. “

“We should meet sometime when he’s better” said Shane, but his mind was already out the door.

“Pity. I like him better as bunny. Much calmer.”

Kip rolled his eyes one last time, mostly out of fondness, “You two take care of each other. And keep the Racecar, Ilya. To remember when silence is golden.”

Ilya grinned, ear to ear. It was already in his pocket.

Out of the door, in the quiet darkness of the foyer, Ilya thought about the night behind them, the weirdest couple of hours of his life. Whose idea had it been again? Probably Shane’s. All the best things he had in life were Shane’s doing.

Chapter End Notes

Hey beautiful people! This chapter fought me tooth and nail, I hope I managed to not make them sound too OOC. As a Magpie, bringing (or taking) small gifts is part of Ilya's love language, while I imagined Shane as being observant and easily spooked (which to me are traits I associate with him while also fitting the fox type). If you feel like dropping a comment they always make my day.

Chapter 6: +1 - All-Star Weekend - January

Chapter Summary

When everybody met Kip, some knew what they were seeing, some didn't.

Chapter Notes

Scott entered the hotel's lobby with martial strides and a set jaw. Though the temperature was uncomfortably warm in Tampa, he was shivering under his blazer. He was holding the leash with a death grip and it felt like the leather biting into his palm and the patting of the leash swinging into his calves was the only thing keeping him from fainting. He was doing this, and that was that.

The sitting area was massive and empty so late in the evening and Scott stopped in the middle of it feeling a little lost, deflating in increments now that they were inside. He took in the view that the floor to ceiling mirrors were reflecting back at him: Scott Hunter a little keyed up in his game day suit, looking fairly composed all in all, except for his spirited eyes and sweaty hands. Next to him, a medium-large short furred dog was looking back at him with a mix of compassion and exasperation.

He had a broad kind face and a stocky body, muscle lines evident under a chocolate brown coat so dark it was almost black. Something made for cuddles and to be relied upon. Just a human and his dog, a man and the love of his life, a boyfriend and his companion.

“I know it’s not enough, but let's do this, hm? Let's go get changed.” Kip nuzzled his hand, gave his knee a playful shove: a “get on with it then” if he ever heard one. Always the bossy one, his Kip.

Carter saw the elevator’s doors closing and stopped them just in time, jamming his hand between them: he was not waiting 5 entire minutes for the next one. Fucking 27 floors, man.

Inside, a stiff Scott Hunter was staying with his hands clasped in front of him like a resting soldier, loosely holding a leash. At its end, a friendly looking dog with an amused if long suffering look to his eyes.

“Hey Cap, where are you heading?” he broke the ice.

“27th? You?”

“Same. Gum?”

Scott shrugged but took the gum that appeared from Carter’s pocket.

Carter kneeled and gave the dog a cookie from the very same pocket and a good rub behind the ears, letting Kip fully lean into him. Hugs were always hugs in the end, regardless of your shifting status. He scratched Kip's neck where the skin was loose and wrinkly and his hands brushed along the smooth leather collar. “Property of Scott Hunter” said the brass tag. It was a necessary thing, he supposed, to make a dog identifiable, but he couldn't help the faint blush high on his cheeks at the implications of it.

“I'm so glad you made it,” he said to Kip instead, “maybe this time we have a chance to actually win.”

Scott rolled his eyes at that but didn't contradict him.

When the elevator dinged the 27th floor they all exited and Scott asked for Carter’s room number. “Oh no, I'm coming to your room for a nightcap. Gloria arrives tomorrow, and it looks like you need one.”

Shane was not exactly a social person, and to mingling in the lounge or splashing in the pool preferred a book and people watching. Ilya was racing laps with a bunch of kids, peacocking just a bit too hard for it not to be intentional. A sort of inelegant, weirdly sweet mating dance for Shane's eyes only. At the tiki bar, Samuel MacMillan was drunkenly flirting with a waitress that looked like she wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth, while his wife was pretending to put sunscreen on a few sunbeds away. He averted his gaze. Whatever.

Two or so spots to the left of Mrs. MacMillan was Scott Hunter, gracelessly sprawled on a towel. He was fast asleep, for once devoid of his perpetual scowl, and was that a bit of drool on his beard?

Shane smiled to himself. On top of him lay a sturdy dog, his massive muzzle resting on Scott's naked chest, in the same way some mastiffs do when they believe they are actually lapdogs instead of 80 lbs of solid muscle. Scott’s arm was a dead weight hugging Kip, his hand scratching his ears every so often in his sleep.

One could have categorized Kip as a mutt; maybe part American bulldog, maybe a Rottie mix, though to put an animal label on a human shifter felt pretty rude. At first glance, Kip was also asleep, immobile and relaxed on his partner’s chest, but his eyes were awake and watchful under his droopy eyebrows. He was, Shane realized, keeping guard.

He contemplated the scene for a while, how different it was from what he and Ilya shared. They had never been so close in public, not in human form, nor while shifted. But Scott and Kip weren't archnemeses after all, though they had their own set of struggles, and turning into animals that fell into the domestic category made it easier, too. Shane couldn’t tell if he missed that kind of relationship, but watching them right now he couldn't help but think it would be nice if he could sprawl on Ilya without a care in the world and be petted to his heart’s desire.

He was zoning out a bit, actually, mesmerized by the sight of Kip giving a wet lick to Scott’s mouth, when he felt a shadow on his face and water dripping on his belly. Ilya was staring at him from above, a little breathless. A smirk stretched his mouth but his eyes were too knowing for Shane's liking.

“You are staring. Don't be jealous of dog. I can be your dog if you ask nicely,” and with that Ilya shook his head and body, drenching Shane in the remnants of his bath.

Ilya loved the All-Star weekend. He would never admit it, but having Shane for himself for a whole weekend did things to his mood. He wasn't really his, per se. They were more existing in each other's space, but if the maximum you saw of your person was a handful of stolen nights a year this was already an improvement. They were also on the same team for once, and in the off chance Shane was to score on his assist, he could hug him in front of everyone in that bro kind of hug that was the only one they were allowed in public. The possibility made him bubble with giddiness.

These were the thoughts he was mulling over on the way to the locker room before the game, through the long meandering corridors. Left, right, right again. Then, out of nowhere, Scott Hunter on his path, crouching so low that Ilya almost tripped on him. Scott Hunter and Gloria Gray, standing tall above him.  

She was beautiful as always, a little unfazed by all the hype, and they were talking softly, plotting Ilya would guess. Her hand on his shoulder was a promise, the leash on her wrist a commitment. He was listening and nodding but not looking at her, busy holding the head of a chunky dog like a father that’s leaving his child at daycare and having a hard time with it. These idiots.

“You coming, old man? Can you walk or you need wheelchair?” he shouted from behind. He hoped he would spook them, because it would be fun, but Hunter was a difficult man to get a rise out of, these days.

As confirmation Hunter didn't so much as look up. Instead he cupped Kip's jaw, quite deliberately, and pressed a kiss to his neck that was just a little too long to be dog appropriate.

“I'll see you later, yeah?” Hunter said, looking Kip in the eyes, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

He then stood, following him into the Eastern locker room without a word.

“You're playing with fire. You know that, right?” Ilya said, because it was worth mentioning.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” was the mulish answer. Was that the game they were playing now?

“If they find out...” went on Ilya, having no intention of allowing him the grace of deflection.

“Then they find out.” Hunter completed his sentence, looking at him with a determination that meant he was considering the topic closed.

“And you think you’re ready for that?” pushed Ilya, because he could be insistent when he wanted, nagging even. Hunter just shrugged and started taking his shoes off, and that was really the end of it.

Tracy MacMillan was not having a good time. First of all, it was not supposed to be 70° in February, and she almost missed Pittsburgh weather. Almost. And then there was her husband's drinking thing that was mortifying to explain to the other WAGs. If only it was the only mortifying thing about him. At least this was the last day, and it looked like their reputation survived the weekend mostly intact. Small mercies.

She sat on the sidelines of the family section, to avoid questions and discourage conversation, watching the game more like a chore than a pastime, when she noticed a strange pairing in the room.

In the opposite corner, in the most inconspicuous spot with a view of the ice, Gloria Gray was making an effort not to blind them all with her presence. Her look was understated as can be, a basketball cap covering most of her face. At her feet, a dark, solid dog was sitting on the coziest of blankets, his head resting on her lap. Something warm and reliable, the kind that made you feel safe.  She found herself wishing that her Sam was a little more guardian dog and a little less social butterfly.

They both looked completely uninterested in the game, the dog enjoying the scratches on his shoulders and Gloria reading something on her phone. She was talking to him almost like he was human, and in all honesty he could almost pass for a shifter if it wasn't for how well behaved and unbothered he was.

When Gloria’s boyfriend was up, doing the skill competition paired with his Captain, whatshisname Hunter, her head and the dog's went to the maxi screen in unison, silently cheering for their man. They didn't leave it until they were announced winners. She gave a small smile and the dog a single, happy wag of his tail. Afterwards, they went back to their cuddling.

When the Eastern team won, mostly thanks to Hollan-something but with a nice goal from Hunter, the atmosphere in the VIP room was festive.

There were cheers, toasts, yelling kids, and a group photo, WAGs regalia and all. The mood was so gay in fact that even her royal highness Gloria Gray didn't try and sneak out of her picture duty (the assist from her boyfriend in overtime was also to blame).

The girls fell into a pretty monochrome line, showing off their jerseys. Tracy thought they all looked as silly as can be but she was not gonna fight Dana over them. Gloria took her dog by the leash and strolled in front of the posing WAGs, the jersey nowhere to be seen. Taking the central stage like it had been hers all along, she knelt, hugging him tight. “He can stay, right girls? He’s in love with his daddy,” she asked with the most innocent voice. A fawning choir of assent, not at alls and such a good boy, answered her but Dana’s smile went rigid. Tracy thought it was mostly adulation, but the dog was undeniably cute and was bothering no one. The photo got taken.

When Scott sees the picture the next day, they’re still in bed, Kip lying beside him, recovering from the last dregs of his Spell. Shifting is slightly less hard on him, the joint and bone morphing not as dramatic, but it’s still a huge hormonal wave in the span of a few days. Scott trails absentmindedly along the last residue of Kip’s fur, a thin fuzzy line along his spine. He wonders if he should comment the post, or like it at least, but that would be obvious, would it not? He downloads it instead and makes a mental note to ask Gloria if she can get a hold of the original.

A soft murmur. Kip stirs in his sleep. It’s gonna be a chill day, with a lot of pampering and cuddles. Maybe a walk? He doesn´t really care how they spend it as long as it makes Kip feel good. The phone gets forgotten somewhere in the sheets, Scott going back to being Kip’s big spoon, trying to buy him a few more hours of sleep. That’s where he’s needed.

Chapter End Notes

When i started this i wanted to do 6 small scenes and get it out of my system. I think it went a little out of hand. I hope you enjoyed it and didn't drag too much. I had a lot of fun writing this final chapter (btw Carter's Chippy trait is that he always carry too much stuff in his pockets). If you feel like commenting it means a lot but it's not necessary. Thanks for reading, Folks!